


inside the phantom's opera

by EverSparrow



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: Angel of Music, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Opera Populaire, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverSparrow/pseuds/EverSparrow
Summary: Christine and Raoul visit the destroyed Opera Populaire one last time and look back on angels and songs, not noticing that someone watches them from the shadows.
Relationships: Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Kudos: 11





	inside the phantom's opera

**Author's Note:**

> My first Phantom story! I'm the biggest fan and have memorized the whole soundtrack, so I thought, why not?   
> I hope you enjoy and have a lovely day :) Feel free to review!   
> Cross-posted on FFN under the same name

It's too late for Christine to be awake, and yet she is, gazing into the glassy mirror of her dressing room in the Opera Populaire. Or at least, what _remains_ of the once glorious opera house.

After the fire, it's been closed to the public, doors shuttered and locked with loose iron chains. Christine has found herself wondering more than once whether they're more to keep people in or out. If it's the latter, they're certainly not doing too good of a job. She'd found it relatively easy to find a shattered window pane and climb through, the charred halls still smelling of perfume and chalk and ash all at once.

Now, after an hour of wandering, she's found herself in her old dressing room once again, everything precisely as she's left it but for a few layers of stray dust. The fire had left this room virtually untouched. She wonders if that was on purpose.

It's cold, and she pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Why is she here? She doesn't even know herself. Even now, after everything that's happened, she can't take her eyes off of the mirror, wondering what remains in the depths beyond.

She thinks of Raoul, still asleep and probably dreaming of sweeter things. He is always so undeniably _good_ , so pure of heart, that sometimes it makes her feel sick. She'll never be good, not like that. Not after everything she's been through.

Christine stands and walks to the mirror, pressing a hand to its cool surface. Her fingerprints come away covered in dust. _Look at your face in the mirror. I am there, inside._ If she closes her eyes, she can still hear his voice in her head.

"Christine?"

She nearly jumps out of her skin, and for a moment, she's sure that it's Erik, back to haunt her and drag her back into those terrible, beautiful depths.

"What are you doing here?" It's not Erik, but Raoul, who stands before her, a concerned crease on his brow. "Christine, it's nearly midnight."

"I know." Christine doesn't know what to say. What does one say to that? "I couldn't- I can't seem to stay away." She tries to ignore the pain that crosses Raoul's face at these words.

"It's dangerous," he says, moving over to stand by her side, the two of them reflected in the glass of the mirror. "Especially down here. Things could fall. I'm sure the structure was damaged by the fire."

"I know," she says again. _That's not the only danger here._ She doesn't say this out loud.

"How did you get in?" Raoul looks at her with those deep blue eyes and she sighs, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"I climbed through a window." She can't keep the smile off her face, and Raoul grins back at her, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Of course you did." He sighs, looking at her as if he can see right through her. "We should go home. We've got a wedding to plan, after all."

"Yes, we should," Christine agrees, but she doesn't move, and neither does Raoul. It's like some spell still lingers in the room, rooting them to the spot.

"Do you think he's still here?" Raoul's hand travels absent-mindedly to his neck as if he's remembering the feeling of the lasso tightening around his skin. "Or did that coward finally run?"

"Raoul," Christine says, a hint of warning in her tone. "He's gone. He's not coming back."

"How do you know?" Raoul asks, turning away from her to pace the room. He picks up one of the dried roses that line every free surface, twisting it between his fingers. "We can't know. He could be hiding in the rafters for all we know. We should go home."

" _Trust_ me, Raoul. We're safe," Christine breathes, coming to his side to lay a hand on his arm. "We're finally safe." So why does she feel so uneasy?

"I'm sure he's pawned that ring you gave him. It was expensive, too." Raoul shakes his head, putting a hand to his forehead.

"Raoul, _please_." Christine links her arm through his, trying to keep her gaze from wandering back to the mirror. "Will you walk with me? I want to see the stage one last time."

"It's not safe," Raoul says reluctantly, but he turns to her, staring into her eyes, and his expression softens. "But you're going to go anyway, so I might as well accompany you. I doubt I'll be able to sleep anyway, not after seeing all this-" He gestures to the millions of dead flowers littering the surface, the lack of electricity casting a menacing aura over the whole place. They walk towards the doorway, and Raoul pushes open the two french doors, insisting on inspecting the hallway before they walk through it. Just as Christine is about to follow him, one of the roses catches her eye, and she turns, picking up the flower. A black ribbon is tied around its stem.

Quickly, she drops the rose, drawing in a sharp breath. _Christine, I love you._ She can still see his pleading eyes, the pain that seemed to encompass his whole form. She hadn't known she could feel so broken until that moment.

"Christine, are you coming?" Raoul's voice drifts in from the hall, and she quickly looks away from the flower, following him out and down the hallway. She doesn't look back at the dressing room. There's nothing left for her there.

* * *

The stage of the Opera Populaire is a different story. The curtains have fallen off their rods, resulting in a dusty pile of fabric and seats and music stands that litters the pit below the stage. All along the wooden platform, boards are missing and splintered into pieces, and Christine and Raoul have to maneuver around all the jagged edges of the flooring on their way to the center of the stage.

The view is nothing like Christine remembers. Every seat is empty, some cushions simply tattered and others merely remnants of their scarlet red predecessors. It's like staring out at an audience of ghosts.

"Think of me…" She sings the words so quietly they're barely more than a whisper, but it's enough to bring the thrill of that night rushing back to her, the hum of the crowd and the lilting melody of the piano still echoing in her ears.

"That was the first time I'd seen you in all those years," Raoul said, pointing to a shuttered box on the side of the theater. "I'd sat there, and you'd sang, and I swear, I thought you were an angel."

"An angel?" Christine laughs, fingering her shawl and trying to remember the feeling of that satin dress beneath her fingertips. "And to think, it was almost Carlotta's angelic voice you'd have heard."

"I definitely preferred yours," Raoul says, smiling brightly. The two of them stand there in silence for a while, staring out at the empty seats and imagining a time of silk and violins and golden chandeliers. Almost against her will, Christine's gaze drifts over to a certain box, this one holding only a single chair, and it takes her a minute to realize that it's box five. She tenses immediately as her brain makes the connection, drawing closer to Raoul. _Box Five_ will _be kept empty for me._

"You still hear his voice, don't you." Raoul follows her gaze to the box and then turns back to her, his expression one of pain and fear and almost something like disgust. Christine steps away from him at the sight of it and shakes her head, trying to clear it. Trying to clear _his voice_ from it. "Don't deny it, Christine. I know you."

"I don't know what you mean." She turns away so she's facing away from the phantom audience, trying to control her breathing.

"Yes, you do." She can hear Raoul sigh heavily, a shift of fabric meaning he's thrown his hands up in the air. "I'm not naive, Christine."

"And neither am I!" She whirls around, on the verge of anger, now, and Raoul blanches, taken aback by her sudden outburst. "Do you think I want this? That I wanted any of this? Do you know what it's like to know everything and nothing about someone all at the very same time? To know that you've consumed someone's entire life without even being a part of it?" A tear slides from her eye, and then another, and another, until she's sobbing quietly, her hands over her face. "I ruined his life, and he ruined mine. I'll _never_ be rid of him."

"Christine, don't say that." Raoul is at her side before she can blink, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he can. "You're right. I'm sorry. I don't know what it's like."

"I hope he's alright," she says, and she can feel Raoul's arms tense ever so slightly. "I know I shouldn't, but I do. He doesn't deserve any of this."

"He tried to kidnap you! If that doesn't deserve punishment, what does?" Raoul sighs, leaning his head against hers. "I know what he meant to you, but he was disturbed. He was blinded by what he thought was love."

"He deserves love. Everyone does. I only wish I could have given it to him." Christine shudders, and she's not certain it's from the cold. "And now I'm cursed with the memory of his voice, of his _face_. He'll _always_ be there singing songs in my head."

"Christine…" Raoul's voice drifts off, and he turns her to face him, his hands on her shoulders. "Christine, I'll never leave your side. You know that, don't you?"

"I know," is all she can say. And she does know, doesn't she? She has _chosen_ Raoul, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse. "To share one love, remember?"

"And one lifetime." Raoul steps closer to her, his arms sliding around her waist. "I'm here. Nothing can harm you. I _love_ you."

The words still send a jolt of energy through her heart, just as they did the first time he had said them, in the cold and the snow on the roof of this very opera house. In this moment, she feels safe, in his arms, the arms of this man who _loves_ her, really truly loves her. Her light.

"I love you, too," she says, and she finds that she really does mean it. The words taste like sugar on her tongue, and as she stares into Raoul's eyes, she can't hear the Phantom's voice, not anymore. For once, she doesn't feel like she needs it. The time of her Angel of Music has passed, the music of the night nothing more than a memory, a distant dream. The Phantom's song will always linger in her ears, but as long as Raoul's by her side, she'll be all right. Their love isn't perfect, but it's real. And that's enough.

Raoul bends down to kiss her, and she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him as close as she can. She never wants to let him go.

"Christine, I love you," he says again, his voice breathless, and she smiles against his lips, kissing him more fiercely. He is all she needs, now, and with _Raoul's_ song in her head, she feels like she can do anything.

* * *

"I love you, too."

The words ring in the ears of the figure that stands in the shadows of the Opera Populaire, a black cloak concealing his form from the view of the two people that stand on the stage. The dark figure watches from his position in a corner of the backstage area, a ripped satchel hanging from his shoulder.

Erik had meant to leave an hour ago. He had _been_ leaving an hour ago, halfway to the window he'd staked out for his exit, but then he'd heard a noise just as he was about to leave, and he'd returned to the shadows, hoping against hope that he wouldn't be discovered. There had been soft footsteps, a sigh, and then the figure had turned its back, heading off down the hallway. Erik, naturally, had followed. He'd never been one for giving up on things.

He'd followed the footsteps all the way to the lower floors where the dressing rooms were housed, and he knew exactly who the figure was from the moment he caught a glimpse of that brown hair retreating around a corner.

Erik had watched Christine from the shadows surrounding the doorway of her dressing room, had watched her crumple a dried flower in her palm, had watched her stare into that mirror, _his_ mirror. It twisted his heart into knots, staring at her. It took every fiber of his being not to sprint into the room and steal her away once again, to confess his love and hope that maybe, this time, the outcome would be different.

Now, watching her kiss that damned Vicomte, Erik is glad he didn't. It seems she really does love the other man, after all that. His mind is oddly quiet as he watches them embracing on that stage, whispering their declarations of love as if it's the easiest thing in the world. Love is never easy. Erik knows that first-hand.

He twists the ring on his little finger, watching the diamonds catch a thin sliver of moonlight from a crack in the wall. It isn't big enough to fit properly, so it sits just above his knuckle, mocking him. He's never going to take it off.

Erik doesn't want to leave her. It was hard enough the first time, but now, unmasked with only a hood for protection, he feels even worse. _God give me courage to show you you are not alone._ If he closes his eyes, he can still hear her lilting notes, can feel her lips on his. Why did he do it? Why did he kill those people? He doesn't know.

Finally, Christine breaks away from Raoul, the two of them grinning at each other like idiots, and Erik watches as they exit the stage, fingers intertwined. He doesn't follow them, but he makes sure to never lose sight of Christine until he absolutely has to, following her with his eyes until she disappears into the darkness beyond. He feels like crying, but he doesn't. He has to get out of this place. Every corner is filled with memories that he'd rather not relive.

Erik leaves the way Christine entered, slipping out into the cold night air as silently as he can and stealing away down a dark alleyway. _Look how far your Angel has fallen, Christine._ Even his thoughts are bitter.

Deep down, he knows he'll always love Christine. She is in everything, her smile in the stars, her song in his ears, her kiss replaying itself over and over again in his mind. He wonders why love has to hurt so much.

Erik turns, taking one last look at the once-grand Opera Populaire that he has ruined with both his hate and his love. _Farewell, old friend._ He can't help but give a small nod, acknowledging his past and wondering if there's even a future out there, waiting for him.

_Share each day with me, each night, each morning._

Erik turns and walks unflinchingly into the darkness that waits before him. He has nothing to fear. Not anymore.


End file.
